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He sat beside her. Not too close. Not far enough for anyone to say he was holding back. Between them there was still the heat from the bed, the sweat half dried on his back, the raw humiliating knowledge that the body says things character cannot later sustain.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Only the cigarette burned.

Between Ash and Rain (An old rough draft)
Apr 5
at
7:04 PM
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